No Lucifer
by Lif61
Summary: Sam has been asking what Nick remembers of being possessed by Lucifer. He tells him nothing. Of course he would, given that what he does remember is enough to keep him up at night, but not for the reasons one might think.


**A/N: Been trying to get back into writing lately, so this happened. Oops.**

**WARNINGS: Referenced rape/non-con, rape fantasy, antagonist POV.**

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Nick hadn't been in the bunker for very many days when memories started coming back to him. It was always when Sam was near. He never told him about them. How could he when in them Sam was naked, exposed? How could he when he knew what his cock looked like? How could he when he knew what he sounded like during orgasm, how he sometimes growled when he came?

Yes, Nick knew a lot about Sam.

Knew that he sounded beautiful choking on a cock, knew that his hair was perfect for pulling, knew that even just rubbing at his perineum was enough to get him aroused.

Sam didn't touch him, even when tending to his wound. He used medical tools to aid in that, keeping it clinical. Still, Nick's shirt had to come off for this, and he felt warm inside watching the way Sam would sometimes stare at him, perfect pink lips parted, gorgeous hazel eyes wet with unshed tears. Other times he'd duck his head, look away, emotion bobbing in his throat. He wondered what would happen if he reached out and touched him. Not even a malevolent touch, just a hand on a shoulder. Would he cringe, jump away, scream?

Or would he shudder, recognizing the hand, as it had been Lucifer's? Would he fall to his knees, body limp and weak at the memory of the power Nick's body had once held?

It didn't take long to realize there were nearly two centuries of memories to go through. HIs mind couldn't contain it all at once, so sometimes they burst through him anew, and he was left trembling from them. Lucifer's memories. Oh god, yes, Lucifer's memories. Even if Sam hadn't been in them Nick was sure he would've enjoyed them all the same. They were pulsing with a dark sensuality, a power, and a lust for pain. And he was in him, in Nick. They were one.

He was Lucifer.

There wasn't anything else to be.

But then always there was Sam. Sam, Sam, Sam, Sam, Sam. There was a jealousy brewing in Nick's heart as he went through his head, times before coming back to him, the Cage flickering in his mind's eye.

Perfect. That's what Sam was.

That's what he was to Lucifer, and to Nick. All he saw was the need for him, the ache for a touch of that perfection:

Perfection that had bled out into Lucifer's system with each penetration into Sam, with each throaty moan, each throb and twitch and tremble and tensed muscle of his vessel's body. Perfection that he could eat up in his cum, or taste in his blood and tears. Perfection that he sucked into his mouth with each kiss.

And still even then, Lucifer had not been content. There could never be enough pain for Sam, never enough of the two of them together, never enough of what he truly deserved: _him_. He'd painted him in his essence, coating sweaty, bloodied skin till Sam would've surely known.

His, his, his.

But no. No, Sam hadn't learned.

Not even with the rape jokes Lucifer had made on Earth while inhabiting Nick's body had he learned. But Lucifer had gotten to know Sam as a fully matured man, a scruff of beard on his face, voice low, and enthralling. So Nick knew him, and he knew what he needed.

He didn't need more of this hunting crap, or trying to be a good person and checking in on him. He didn't even need his family.

Sam Winchester just needed to know who he belonged to.

Nick yearned to teach him, to remind him. But playing to Sam's good side was surely the way to go.

Still, Sam couldn't control what Nick did to himself in the quiet, dark hours of the early morning.

Nick had a favorite memory of Lucifer's he went to when his blood pressure changed and his body heated and he ached in between his legs. It was such a simple memory, not involving devices for torture — sexual or otherwise — and Sam hardly fought in it.

That was what Nick wanted: compliance, helplessness, thralldom.

Lucifer had pressed him against the Cage, had caressed his cheeks, fingers brushing away tears. And then he'd run a hand down to his neck, cutting off air. Sam had simply held onto his arm, not trying to pry him off or away. Just a touch, a silent plea that went ignored.

And he'd touched Sam, stroked his hard cock all soft and gentle even when more pressure would surely have felt better. It was teasing, dragging, a lessen in patience and yearning. Even now, as he imagined it, Nick touched himself in the same way, remembering how Sam's cock had looked in Lucifer's hand. He remembered the way it'd leaked precum, remembered each needy twitch that had run all through his core, remembered the way Sam's head had tilted back.

He'd held onto the Cage with one hand, Lucifer continuing to play with his breaths, and Nick held his for as long as he could, trying to go longer and longer each time, even as he worked at himself. God, the breath play was making him harder than ever; he could see why Lucifer liked doing it. That, and how good it felt to have Sam's throat beneath his hand, to control even the very air that went into his body.

Nick groaned, cock twitching, wanting to pump himself harder, reach his end. But it wasn't just about his end in these moments. It was the memories, the closeness, the pure power.

And oh _god_, Sam looked good with his muscled body undulating under Lucifer's hand.

Nick nearly whined with how much he wanted him.

"Come on, baby," he urged quietly, the Sam in his memory growing closer to his end.

A grunt left him at Sam reaching fulfillment, at his body being worked till it couldn't take it anymore. Oh god, he wanted that: wanted Sam's voice crying out, wanted the tears rolling down his cheeks, wanted it to be his hardness he felt against his skin now.

Hips arching upward, not able to take the slow caresses anymore, Nick started pumping himself hard, just needing and wanting.

But god, knowing. Knowing was nearly unlike anything else. Knowing what Sam's body felt like, what it could do, how Lucifer had turned him into his bitch.

In his head it was just skin, screams, blood, tears, and there were many replays of Sam cumming, all in different positions as Lucifer worked him over, and worked him over good.

The Devil knew how to fuck, and Nick knew how to be the Devil.

He wasn't himself unless he was Lucifer.

He writhed on his bed, a throaty moan leaving him, almost hoping Sam could somehow hear it, and when he reached his end, white burst behind his eyes. And, as he lay there, breathing heavy, hand falling away from himself, he felt it, what he'd been looking for.

Somewhere in Nick there wasn't just a sliver of darkness. There was what Lucifer had left him with, what Lucifer had taught him how to be, what he'd made him into. There was that empty, empty space deep in the pit of his soul that had used to be him, but was no longer.

And when he came, when he saw Lucifer's own fulfillment in his head, and that of his perfect vessel, that little part of himself was Lucifer again.

Nick's eyes rolled back into his head, and he drifted on that high.

"Lucifer, I'm here," he breathed. "I'm yours."

Cold enveloped him, and he shuddered, smiling. But then he cried, wanting the Devil in his soul.

But there was no Lucifer. There was no sharp, sinuous Grace weaving into him.

There was humanity. Just humanity.

And god, Nick wanted to kill it.

Nick wanted to kill Sam.

Still Sam breathed.

Nick breathed.

No Lucifer.


End file.
